The Purrfect Name
by ro-lal
Summary: "He bitches, he whines, he lies all over Steve, he's a smug little bastard who drank my coffee - " Clint froze. "The little fucker's just like Tony."
1. Chapter 1

One of the first rules Stark laid down when he welcomed the Avengers into Stark Tower was that nobody, _nobody_, was to have a pet.

"No birds, no hamsters, frogs, gerbils, puppies, or kittens, and if you bring in a fish you'll be eating it for dinner." If his tone was harsh, his expression would have sent any non-Avengers home crying. He never answered when people asked why. Actually, he never brought it up again. It was understood that, while the no-knives-in-the-coffee-table rule was bendable (nobody questioned Natasha), pets were simply not allowed.

Steve was very well aware of this, even as he tucked the little scrap of fur into his jacket and biked home. It squirmed at first, voicing its discomfort with tiny wailing noises and thorn-sharp claws pricking through his shirt, but by the time he pulled into the garage it was worryingly still. Steve kept it supported with one hand while he peeled off his rain-soaked jacket with the other, juggling the poor thing carefully as he got his arms out of the sleeves. He gently tugged its claws out of his shirt, promising himself to look at the little spots of blood it left later. His jacket was abandoned at the head of his motorcycle as he snatched up a first aid kit on his way up the to the elevator.

"Captain." JARVIS' voice caught him by surprise and he jumped, looking up at the ceiling with the guilty air of a kid who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "I am detecting a second life form with you. Scans suggest it is a cat. Might I inquire as to what you are doing with an animal in Sir's tower?"

"It needs help," he answered firmly, exiting onto the common floor and dropping the kit on the couch. The knives were removed from the table one at a time. "I know Tony's not fond of pets but I think he will understand when I tell him. It's just until the poor thing's feeling better."

"I understand your reasoning, Captain," JARVIS responded. "However, as they say, it's your head."

"Ooooh, what'd Cap do?" Clint sounded way too gleeful as he waltzed into the kitchen and dove for a bag of Fritos.

"Nobody likes Fritos, Barton, they're a disgrace." Natasha followed him in, sitting on the counter and picking up a knife Steve had deposited.

Clint pointed at her with a greasy finger. "Exactly, so I know they're always safe."

She ignored him. "Any reason you're wrecking my work of art, Cap?"

"I'm sorry, Natasha," Steve replied, taking the towel from the kitchen counter and spreading it over the holes in the table. "I need this space for a few minutes. Damn," he added quietly when the wet bundle he placed there didn't move.

"Nice drowned rat," Clint commented. "Stark's not gonna like that."

"I know," Steve sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Pass me another towel?"

"Sure."

Natasha's eyes never left the cat. "Tell me how I can help."

Steve shot her a startled glance but complied. "Help me clean it up?"

"Alright." She slid off the table and took Clint's proffered towel.

Between the two of them, Clint playing gofer, and Jarvis providing information from the internet, the cat Steve picked up was clean and patched up in an hour. It had woken up fifteen minutes in, hissing and spitting but unable to do any real damage. Now it lay curled up in Steve's lap, half its body wrapped up in gauze and too exhausted to do much more than breathe funny whenever they touched him.

"So," Clint started, snapping the lid of the first aid kit shut with a click, "what now?"

"Now?" Steve smiled, just a little. "We make sure he'll be okay."


	2. Chapter 2

I am so sorry for the tiny update, I've been fiddling with this for days and couldn't come up with anything, so have this while I try to get back into this fic. Again, so sorry.

**8**

"Dammit, you little beast, quit it!" Clint swore and stomped around the kitchen in search of something to beat the cat with; Natasha snatched away the tongs before he could do anything, trading it for a bandaid. The archer glowered at the Hello Kitty print even as he wiped the blood from his hand and stuck it on. Behind him, their furry guest munched on a fresh piece of canadian bacon, smug as a cat could get over his hard-won prize. He was relentless, a bottomless pit of an eating machine, eating everything he could snag his claws in and when that wasn't enough, he stole from unsuspecting idiots like Clint. It had been three days since Steve brought him home, after all; he'd had plenty of time to perfect his art of sneaky thievery. Steve sometimes thought it was maybe Natasha who taught him his skills.

He voiced this opinion and the other two turned amused expressions on him.

"I will neither confirm nor deny," Tasha said with a wry smile. Clint rolled his eyes, turning back to the now-empty skillet with a sigh and tearing open the new pack of bacon.

"C'mon, Steve, don't encourage her."

"Just because he knows how to compliment a woman, Clint, does not mean-"

The cat meowed loudly and slipped off the counter, not walking but sauntering away with his tail waving lazily.

Clint raised an eyebrow after him. "Really? Prissy little diva, isn't he?"

Natasha patted his arm comfortingly. "No worse than you, Clint."

Steve shook his head.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Text

Despite all the teasing Tasha subjected Clint to, she wasn't fond of the cat either. Neither did she teach the little scrap to be a ninja. He was a fully grown cat, despite his size, and his nasty little habits were clearly ingrained from previous experience with people. This implied that, either they spoiled him rotten, or his previous owners didn't know how to care for a cat. It was difficult to tell either way, however, because while the cat waltzed around like he owned the place, nobody was permitted to touch him. Except, sometimes, when they'd be sitting down and he'd curl up on her lap like she'd be his pillow all day. She wasn't to touch him too much, though, or he'd run away with the fur on his spine prickling. Occasionally she did this to get him to move, but she always felt sort of bad for doing it.

She never expected him to enact any sort of revenge against her for this.

It started small, just him nosing around and getting his tiny gauze wraps caught on her knitting needles. She'd find the little strands everywhere, and have to spend half an hour picking it out of her basket. It was frustrating, but then he'd been causing trouble for everyone. She expected it to pass.

Then her skeins went missing. She frowned, wondering where her maroon string was, because she was halfway through a scarf for Thor and she'd planned on finishing it. She went around the Avengers floor, poking around in the kitchen and living room in search of the skein.

She found it strewn about in Clint's bathroom.

Tasha huffed, eyes narrowing as she spotted the little shit with his claws dug into the string, ripping at it and flicking it everywhere. He looked up, golden eyes gleaming with glee, and sprinted out between her legs with his tail streaming. She let him go, sighing in defeat, and called Clint to clean up the mess. She'd talk to Cap about letting the cat wander at dinner.

But before dinner, she found her favorite blue sweater, shredded. That was it, the last straw. She scooped up the pieces, knocked on Cap's door, and when he opened it, dropped them into his hands. He sucked in a breath and stared. She nodded and crossed her arms.

"That cat has to go, Cap."


End file.
